The Year
by aljosha-k
Summary: S10/11 - As Alex and Olivia try to figure out their relationship after a traumatizing 5 years for both of them, not everyone is happy that Alex is back in the first place. A/O. M for later.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_

 _This story ties in loosely(!) with what's happening in season 10 and 11. I know this chapter pretty lopsided. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **FEBRUARY**

8 pm and the sky is lit up by capitalism and low hanging white clouds. It's foggy and smoggy - a child of the city, she never noticed this until she became another person in a less populated state - and her breath is very visible in the cold air. She stuffs her hands deeper into the pockets of her long brown coat, her shoulders tightening in an effort to keep the body warm. Anyone who really knows her realizes that if she could wear anything it would be the bulkiest, most unflattering snow-boarding jacket to be found. However, that's not how politics work in this country.

Five years ago when Olivia had her hooked on her crusade, she didn't care about these things any more, or at least that's what she told herself - and Liv. In truth though, after all this time, the law and the politics around it are all that she has left. Without the ambition to pursue her career at some point, her real one, she wouldn't have made it out of Emily's dollhouse, wouldn't have found the courage to leave Janine's suburban bed.

Trevor arrives with a small woman on his arm. Most women are smaller than him, even Alex herself, but this one especially and she knows he likes it. He gives her a smug smile, and she chooses to ignore it. She could have gone in without him. She couldn't.

Even when she was a little girl, eyes would turn when she entered a room; not because of her but her family. After her father died they looked at her to find him there, and when they did, when she became a lawyer and chose his people as her surrogate family, they kept an eye on her for him. _Do you remember little Alexandra? Well, here she is now._ Getting justice for special victims, however, that was her way of telling them that they had to leave her be. Nobody was really comfortable with that, of course. _Have you talked to your mom about it? Do you know how many people come back from that? What is this, Alexandra?_ It's me.

"Cameron," Trevor motions from one woman to the next, "this is Alex, probably the darkest person in all of Manhattan and secret star of the evening."

Alex glares into the night as he pecks her cheek, and shakes the other woman's tiny hand. Cameron looks at her curiously but doesn't ask anything, which already earns her more points than some of Trevor's other female companions she has met over the years.

"Let's go, it's freezing out here," Alex decides, and waits until she can slip in behind the couple. While she started working towards her old position quite some time ago, she has radically ignored all social events, skipped every chance to chat with familiar faces for more than a few minutes, not sure if she could handle the pressure of returning to be the DA's office's favorite child just yet.

Her heart rate increases when they lose their coats and enter a hall full of New York's finest, as they would probably describe themselves. _The finest old rascals_ , she hears her father's voice say and it puts a smirk on her lips despite the adrenaline almost making her shake.

Maybe it's crazy that she is deliberately putting herself in the middle of all this again, maybe she has completely lost her mind. But these people are all the family she has left.

Heads turn, as was to be expected. She tries not to turn hers back, stuffs her hands as casually as possible in the side pockets of her expensive suit pants that she has put on for exactly that purpose, and sits down on one of the round tables with Trevor and his girlfriend of the month. There's booze and speeches, Alan and his wife sneak in in the middle of an especially long laudation to an especially old judge, taking up the empty chairs on their table, and Alex feels herself relax a little, enough to realize how hungry she is. For her old life. For everything this room has to offer, except maybe the clams.

When their old law professor turns up on stage, Alan shoots her a warning glance. "He's gonna say something. It's Barry."

 _True_. Trevor raises an eyebrow and laughs. "You better run, Alex."

She sighs. "All right, let's see where the toilets are." Trevor snorts, and she hits him more or less softly on the back of his head as she gets up. Thankfully they are seated rather close to the cans, and she is by no means the only one on her feet. It's been almost an hour and a half filled with speeches, after all.

Judge Petrovsky is standing at one of the ridiculously decorated sinks when she enters the facilities. "Alexandra," she says in the same tone she has used since Alex was six, dumped in Petrovsky's office by her father when her mom was feeling too sick to watch her or even have her around at home. _Indictment. How do you spell that, Alexandra?_

"Your evasive tactics haven't improved much, I see? I had hoped you'd still remember the way to my chambers, but it seems I'll see you there again soon enough." Judge Petrovsky takes a good look at her in the large, framed mirror.

Alex squeezes her lips and smiles politely. "Probably," she says. "Nice dress." She means it. The judge is wearing an appropriately tight, short-sleeved black dress ending just beneath her knees. Not many women her age could pull it off, but Judge Petrovsky's has always been surrounded by a certain elegance. _Oh, I'm so sorry, Nicholas, but what am I supposed to think when you spend all this time with dear Lena?_ Her mother wasn't a fan.

"Oh, if you want flatter me, try it again outside of the toilets," Judge Petrovksy says with an amused expression in her eyes. She focuses on her short hair for a moment, flipping back a rogue strand with one swift motion, and glances back at Alex. "Now go do your business, unless you're solely here to hide from Barry Moredock." She raises her eyebrows and Alex nods sheepishly.

When she gets back, the monologues are finally over, thank god, and Alan is the only one left at the table.

"Guess who I ran into," she says with a sigh as she sits down next to him. He shrugs. "Who?"

"Petrovsky. You remember her?"

He thinks for a moment and smiles. "Faintly, but yeah. She didn't like me."

Alex runs a finger along the rim of her glass and nods. "Right, she thought you would make me put my career on ice for marriage and motherhood and all that jazz. Where are the others?"

Alan points his head to the table row in the back of the room, loaded with people. "Fighting for food. And Amy is on the phone, checking up with the nanny. She is a terrible employer." He chuckles and looks at her with his soft dark button eyes. "Do you ever think about having kids? I mean, I'm still not really sure if you don't want kids or just didn't want mine." There is no bitterness in his voice any more, and why should there be? He is exactly where he always wanted to end up - house, wife, kids, good career, but enough time for the family. A guest in political circles, but no real part of them.

"There was somebody once, whose kids I would have had. Absolutely." She leans back in her chair, her hands in her lap. "We never talked about it, though. It was complicated."

Alan nods. "I'm glad you're back, Alex."

She shrugs. It's not a fact yet, but Alan wouldn't get that. If she was born with a golden spoon, he was born with a black and white inventory. Someone places a hand on her shoulder, a second later she can smell Trevor's aftershave as he bends down to her. "I think you should socialize, darling. Everyone is predictably happy that you're here, and look how polite they are for not clustering our table."

Alex rolls her eyes.

"If nothing else, the amount of food is rapidly decreasing," Trevor adds, and embarrassing as it is, it gets her on her feet. Alan chuckles. She ignores him as well as the nervous tingling in her suddenly cold hands and decides to skip everything else and head straight to the comfort food.

"Alex Cabot, what a happy day for the people." A very familiar, semi-serious voice behind her stops her halfway.

"Thanks, Liz," she says, turning around. "But I guess that remains to be seen."

"Don't give me that crap. Lucky for you not everyone of your old friends has retired. Show your face here and Jack'll be under pressure soon enough." Liz gives her a once over, her face softening the tiniest bit. "Congrats, Alex. You actually look like a grown-up now."

Alex snorts, shaking her head at Liz, who winks at her and turns around to talk to someone that Alex doesn't know. Unsurprisingly, there are a lot of people like that around. After some obligatory chitchat with a few of the faces she does know, she can finally smell sugar.

"Alex Cabot?" Someone says next to her at the glazed figs. She looks around.

"I'm Eric Zweig, new ADA in homicide" the man says, reaching out to shake her hand. "Heard a lot about you."

She shakes his hand and gives him a nonchalant smile, her stomach beyond empty by now. "Nice to meet you." It comes out as almost a sigh. She takes a step towards him to grab a dessert plate.

He doesn't back away. "I hear your detective has recovered," he says instead.

"Excuse me?"

"You haven't heard?" His voice is low, he throws a quick glance over her head, and looks back at her. "So at least you're not sleeping with her again."

Alex frowns, her pulse quickening. "I'm sorry, I've no idea what you're talking about."

He grabs two plates, placing one in front of her on the buffet table, loading the other one with a piece of chocolate cake.

"I'm pretty sure you do, Alex. Listen," he grabs a fig, his tone irritatingly casual, "these are critical times. The NYPD is a mess, and all of us have to watch our backs. Especially those with high aspirations."

She quirks an eyebrow, skeptical.

"It's just a warning, all right?" he continues. "Consider yourself informed. There are lists. You are on them. Don't make a mess for the rest of us." He picks up another fig, drops it on her plate. "For you. They are good."

Speechless, she tries not to glare as she watches him leave with his plate in hand.

Trevor seems concerned when she returns to their table with a single fig. "I thought you were hungry."

"Who is that guy?" she asks him, pointing her head in the direction of the tall redhead she hasn't let out of her sight.

"Who, Eric?" Alan asks. "He's a damn good squash player, I can tell you that."

Trevor smirks. "Right, everyone is better than you." He turns to Alex. "He's been here for what, four years? Damn good lawyer, DA loves him. Did he make a move?"

"Never mind," she mumbles, squinting in Eric's direction. When Alan and Amy leave half an hour later, she shares their cab, feeling uncomfortable to say the least.

* * *

 _Alex._

The past year has been so extraordinarily horrible, her drive to do this job probed again and again, and she has become so used to the sympathetic silence surrounding her - nobody is really sure of the balance between getting involved and leaving her be - that she can't remember it any other way, fights hard to keep at least half of her spirits up every morning. So when she sees her striding up to them, her jaw drops.

She has to remind herself repeatedly that they're at a crime scene, a rather ugly one in fact, and that the incessant smile that keeps tugging at her lips would be completely inappropriate if she allowed it to gain any further ground.

It's been a while since she was this unable to focus - after all these years in the job, putting everything else, especially her very personal life, on hold comes naturally to her, even when it's unhealthy as hell - but while people are buzzing around the house of the murdered doctor, her mind is locked on one thing. Alex standing right there next to her, alive and well. Even though she can't read those blue eyes like she used to, it's been four years since she last looked at her after all, they have this familiar spark and that's enough. Whenever they meet her gaze, she feels strangely hopeful that life is done dragging her through the mud for a while.

Even after they knew for sure that Alex was considered to be out of mortal danger and therefore out of witness protection, she was afraid for her. Not because she didn't seek contact with Olivia, but because apparently she didn't seek contact with anyone. When the detective bumped into Alex's old college friend Lucy, she didn't even know that Alex was theoretically out of hiding, and Trevor Langan just shrugged when she casually asked him if he had heard from her. "Between you and me, I hope she is working her ass off. But I don't know if I'd do it just to end up in Appeals." Now she wonders how much he really knew then. Smug bastard.

The day goes by and then a week, and working side by side with their former ADA feels almost normal again even when seeing Alex on a regular basis is absolutely not. Olivia watches silently and not without pride as Alex slowly finds back in the game, regains some of her old mojo, snaps at people and corrects experts. They don't talk, though. Not privately, not about anything other than work. It's fine, she figures, and she didn't expect an apology, isn't sure whether she expected an explanation.

Four years, well, five - they've changed both of them. Maybe it's better this way, now that all wounds are healed, or at least expired. When the case is closed even Elliot has a swollen chest, and she thinks she can see Alex's features relax a little with relief that she didn't mess up.

"You really are back, aren't you?" Olivia says with a smile, dares to believe that it's true. She knows it's a process, maybe better than anyone.

Outside of the courtroom, she hears Alex's heels behind her.

"Olivia?"

She stops and turns around, while Elliot walks on to the next column, talking into his mobile phone.

Alex clears her throat. "Um," she looks around as if to check if somebody is watching them, "maybe we should talk?"

Olivia is so surprised that she almost doesn't get it. "Sure," she says after a moment of probably staring like an idiot.

"So, lunch next week?" Back in the day Alex would have made her feel the awkwardness with a winning grin or some other superior gesture, but now she doesn't seem to have noticed, and the detective realizes that she is softly chewing on the inside of her lip. The blonde is nervous.

"I'd like that." Olivia smiles softly, wants to reach out and squeeze Alex's arm, but doesn't.

"All right," Alex nods. "I'll call you." She hesitates for a moment and then heads towards the broad stairs.

Obviously finished with his phone call, Elliot comes closer and follows Olivia's gaze. "I missed her," he sighs.

She snorts. "You're a piece of work."

"What?" he shrugs, gesturing at her face. "I like that face. You never smile like that for me, so I gotta have Alex around."

Her only comeback is feeling very sad all of a sudden. She clears her throat. "So, what was that phone call about?" she asks.

Elliot looks back at her, his eyes wearing an expression she has become insanely familiar with during the last year. Pure concern. She can't stand it, but she can't help it either. Suddenly it dawns on her that maybe Alex's return doesn't change much.


	2. Chapter 2

**MARCH**

Two in the head, two in the knees, three in the heart.

She has always been a good shot, though after coming here so regularly during the last year that it seems just barely unsuspicious, she hits the paper target almost with her eyes closed. It doesn't make her feel safer or more professional. But it takes the edge off.

There is a dull ache in her burning ears where the protection was sitting when she packs her gun back in its holster at her side, going to the lockers to collect her bag. Running into Carla.

"Hola bonita."

Olivia gives her a nervous smile, guilt making her tense. "Hey, Carla. How are you?"

The other woman cocks her head to the side and sighs, her dark eyes a little reproachful. She'll never let her off that easy, but Olivia is relieved that at least she doesn't seem mad.

"Huh, you'd know, if you'd ever called me back." Carla folds her arms in front of her chest. "But I guess you've never read the gentleman's guide to women."

Olivia presses her lips together. "I'm sorry, Carla, I didn't - I was a bit off lately and I shouldn't have-"

"Fucked me in the first place?" Carla raises her eyebrows, a mixture of disbelief and amusement, and Olivia grabs her lightly by the shoulder to pull her closer to the lockers. Even as a rookie Carla had this tendency to talk about private matters in the most inappropriate places, though back then Olivia had fun watching the others squirm. For some reason Carla always kept her out of it, didn't betray a friend.

"Look," Olivia says in a low voice, putting on a charming smile, "I had a good time-"

"But?"

"Come on, we were drunk, and you're not even divorced yet. I'm sorry that it happened, because you're my friend and that's not how I usually do things."

Carla looks at her for a long moment, and she forces herself to hold the gaze, until the other woman shrugs. "So instead of talking to me, you're the asshole that never calls back? I'm glad I didn't fall for that earlier."

"Like I said, I was pretty out of it." She leans her head against the locker's cool metal front, feeling tired, the shooting range's noisy atmosphere slowly getting on her nerves. She bites her lip, glances back at Carla. "Podemos olvidarlo?"

The other woman snorts, a small smirk forming on her lips. "I already did. It's not like you shattered my world or something, Benson."

Olivia smirks back. "I was drunk."

"You tell yourself that," Carla quips, throwing a glance at the huge digital clock on the wall, and sighs. "I gotta get going. Let's have a beer sometime, all right?" She pads the side of Olivia's arm and heads towards the gunfire.

"Sure," Olivia says after her, adding, " _I_ 'll call, I promise."

She drives home through thin night rain and puddle after puddle of half-melted gray snow.

Her flat is a mess, though by now it's been like that for so long that she can't see it any more, except on random days where she suddenly has the urge to clean up and spends hours doing so. However, today is not such a day.

She is properly exhausted from work and dealing with Carla (even though she feels shitty thinking it)and just life in general, throwing her more than she can handle on any given day. Not that she'd admit that; feeling sorry for herself is confined to the four walls of her chaotic living room, limited to a few minutes each week.

A red digit is blinking next to her phone, two unanswered calls. She tosses her bag onto the ground and shrugs out of her winter coat, presses a button to play the messages and shuffles into the kitchen to take the rest of yesterday's pizza out of the fridge.

The first message is from Martin:

 _Hey Liv, it's Martin. As you know my birthday is coming up next month and if you're not too busy, I would love for you to come. Alex is coming, at least she said so. George tells me you two seem good, so that's another reason to show then, right? He isn't prying by the way, I made him tell me. Please don't tell him I said anything. You know I love you. Take care, Liv. Oh, and please call me if you're coming, because in that case I'm counting on you to bring a chili._

She takes a bite of cold pizza, deciding to put it in the microwave after all. Martin is the sweetest guy, but his birthday parties are an ordeal for people who don't socialize regularly. She remembers hiding in the kitchen with George and Alex, drinking scotch and talking about science putting giant loopholes in the justice system faster than anyone can fix them. She didn't show up for the parties after that, officially because of work, unofficially because she would have spent her time searching the crowd for a face that wasn't there.

The second message is shorter:

 _Hey Olivia, it's me. Alex. Um, I know we said lunch, but what about coffee on Sunday? There's a new cafe about two blocks from where I live that is_ not _a couples' retreat yet, and they have the greatest dark chocolate mocha. If you're still into that. Anyway, um, just tell me what you think and I'll text you the address. Bye._

The microwave beeps and she almost burns her fingers on the hot plate. The pizza looks even less appetizing than before, but being a cop she has definitely eaten worse and at least it's warm in her stomach. She takes the plate to the couch table, switching on the TV, and drops down onto the crumbled woolen blanket on her couch.

It's hard to remember a time when it was normal to have Alex talk on her voicemail; she definitely can remember, but it's painful to think about it now. She pulls her mobile phone out of the back pocket of her jeans, starts typing.

 _Sounds great. Definitely not over mocha yet._

On second glance, she deletes it and simply sends, _I'm in. Liv_

Half an hour later, her phone gives a short buzz on the couch table, but she barely recognizes it, curled up under her blanket, the changing light coming off the TV flicking over her sleeping features.

* * *

She wakes up early on Sunday morning, drenched in sweat, shivering as soon as she gets up to wash her face and shed her wet pajamas. The woman who looks back at her from the bathroom mirror looks more like Janine than Alex. Janine was the one cursed with nightmares and heartache, hardly ever leaving her house in very small town Idaho. She worked from home, praying that the New York press hadn't made too much fuss about Alex's return from the dead. She didn't dare look it up on the internet, though.

If Janine hadn't been the last one, she might have killed herself. That thought alone gives her goosebumps and makes her flinch in shame whenever it crosses her mind. She has visited her mother's grave more than once since she has moved back into the city, and while she still isn't one to talk to stones, she hopes with every fiber of her being that her mother knows, that she knows it all.

After a sip of water she peels the sweaty clothes off her body and slips into her running gear for cold days, including thick cotton sweatpants that Colin gave Emily because _they look so much cuter on you_. On her. He really was a good man, so of course, she hasn't called him.

The doorman at her building nods sleepily when she passes him on her way out.

This early in the morning the air is still ice cold, and it takes a while until her lungs and throat adjust and stop hurting. The sun is about to come up, and she tries to reach the park before that, her feet hitting the pavement evenly, thawing salt crunching under her soles.

She doesn't need music to run. It's the only thing she has ever been really good at as far as sports are concerned. A lanky and uncoordinated kid, she was picked last for almost anything else, but when it came to running she had more stamina and discipline than any of her classmates. In a weird way her legs gave her strength during her time in witness protection, hope that she if there was a next time, another hitman, she wouldn't freeze, wouldn't bleed out in anyone's arms, but run as hell until she'd drop and it wouldn't matter what they'd do to her then. Improbable as it might sound, her pricey trainers made her feel the tiniest bit less helpless.

She enters the park just as the sun paints the sky in pink and orange watercolors, and the sight puts a smile on her face. Maybe this is going to be good day after all.

She isn't afraid of meeting Olivia, but she isn't delusional either. During the first few weeks back with SVU, there were moments, when Alex genuinely forgot about the last five years. Not many, mind you, and they never lasted long, but they were definitely there. Now, though, after being back for a little while, her perspective has changed. Now that she's found familiar ground, everything that's different comes into focus. Including Olivia. Even though her entire appearance is somewhat softer - and god, it's embarrassing how much she'd like to run her fingers through that long shiny hair just once - the detective seems a lot more on edge than she used to be. Alex used to smile to herself when she heard colleagues talk about the aggressive butch cop from the 16. They didn't know her at all. Now Alex herself feels out of the loop as well.

 _I want you to be happy, Liv_ , she said once, in a hotel room flooded with moonlight, without shedding a tear, while Olivia was drawing patterns on her back. It was Janine who cried about it, not much later, but in a different world. Olivia didn't say anything, just moved in closer under the sheets, looking at her with those sparkling chocolate brown eyes. Alex picks up her speed, unwilling to think about it.

She must have run for at least an hour when her building comes back in sight; the streets are slowly filling with people out for breakfast. She picks up a newspaper from a stand nearby, one glance telling her that lead toys are still in discussion. There is never just one unoriginal mercenary boss trying to circumvent the law. Back in her apartment she takes a quick shower and tries to focus on the pile of work she brought back here from her office yesterday. It doesn't really help that her files are clustered with Olivia's handwriting again.

* * *

"Detective?"

Her old neighbor lady stops her in the hallway as soon as she has pulled her apartment door shut, and she represses a sigh. It's true, she hasn't been going out much, but she'd still like to be on time for Alex.

"Mrs Andrews, is everything all right?" she asks, talking a bit louder than usual.

"Yes, yes," the old lady nods. "I was going to ask you that, Detective."

She frowns. "Me?"

Mrs Andrews comes a bit closer, looks up at Olivia with the knowing eyes of a person who has seen all sorts of people in her lifetime. "As you know, my hearing isn't the best anymore," the old lady starts, "but my husband, though he can't take a single step without my help, his ears are fifty years younger than the rest of him."

"I'm sorry, I know I've fallen asleep with the TV on a few times lately."

"No, it's not that." Mrs Andrews puts a wrinkled hand on the sleeve of Olivia's coat. "He says he hears you screaming sometimes, in the middle of the night."

Olivia swallows. "I, um, I haven't been sleeping too well." Even though it's a quiet admission, the woman seems to understand every word.

"Why don't you just quit that horrible job of yours, dear? Sometimes we need to think of ourselves first."

"Maybe, but for me that's not an option. Please tell your husband that I'm thankful for his concern, and yours, but it's getting better," she says, slowly starting to walk towards the stairs. "I gotta hurry, I'm sorry, I'm meeting someone."

Mrs Andrews sighs. "I hope you aren't working on a Sunday."

Olivia smiles and shakes her head. "Not this week."

The old woman gives her a shaky nod, and Olivia rushes downstairs, feeling her neighbor's stare in her back until a rush of cold air hits her in the face outside. She stuffs her hands in the pockets of her coat, walking quickly.

It is getting better. Nights when she doesn't wake up at all have always been rare exceptions, but the ones where she absolutely can't find any sleep or is rattled multiple times by the most horrific nightmares are not the norm any more either.

When she enters the cafe Alex is already sitting in a small booth and to her surprise it doesn't make her nervous to see the blonde sitting there over the New York Times crossword puzzle, waiting for her.

"Hey," Olivia says, softly putting a hand on her shoulder. "Am I late?"

"Nah, I was early," Alex says with a shy smile as Olivia takes off her coat and slides onto the bench on the other side of the table. She just looks at Alex for a moment, sporting a baggy red sweater and light blue skinny jeans, long blonde hair in a messy ponytail. It makes her ridiculously nostalgic to see the lawyer like this, no hint of ADA Cabot, just Alex.

Thankfully a waiter interrupts her staring before it gets awkward, rapidly scribbling down their orders and rushing off again.

"You look nice with long hair, Liv." Alex's blue eyes are softer than they have been since she came back.

Olivia smirks. "Thanks. I know you liked it better when it was short."

Alex shakes her head. "No, you're still pretty. Who cares what I like." She takes a deep breath, looking at the newspaper that lies now as a neat rectangle on the edge of the table, her fingers folding over a small corner.

"Look, Olivia," she starts, "I wanted to call you, I really did-"

"Hey," Olivia interrupts her, leaning forward, her hands on the table, her eyes finding Alex's "I don't need an explanation." She doesn't. By now she regrets that she even mentioned the three years of silence. Despite having a job that obligates her to be empathetic, it's safe to say that she there is still a part of Alex that she knows pretty well, and even though she is afraid to imagine what she's been through, she can see it; there are moments when she feels it, too.

Alex sighs, a sad little smile tugging at her lips. "I thought so. But you deserve one anyway."

The waiter returns with a large cafe latte, a dark chocolate mocha and a lighter. "I know it's still early, but who's gonna complain about a candle when it's freezing outside, right ladies?" Olivia catches the eyeroll from the blonde across the table - she knew it was coming - as he lights the small candle sitting between them. She puts her hands around the lightly steaming mug in front of her, warming her knuckles.

"The first year, I didn't even move back to New York," Alex starts again when the waiter is gone. "I was writing articles for a journal specializing in legal controversies, and it felt pretty safe."

Olivia raises her eyebrows, tries to picture Alex typing the finest legal vernacular in her computer day after day, limiting her rhetoric to the most neutral terms, no jury reaction, no judicial appreciation, not even an impressed stenographer, the only reward coming in form of a mediocre paycheck.

"I was miserable," Alex says, slowly stirring up her coffee with a teaspoon.

"I can imagine," Olivia says softly, taking a sip from her mug and grinning when she sees Alex watching her. "You're right, it's really good."

"Told you." The blonde leans back, fingers playing with the newspaper again. "Anyway, I wanted so badly to come back here when I knew it was impossible, and as soon as they told me I could go, it felt like I was paralyzed." She takes a spoonful of frothy milk and adds in a sarcastic tone, "Had I known that they'd park me in Appeals I wouldn't have worried for so long."

Olivia takes another sip, her eyes studying the woman sitting across from her. It's probably the first time that Alex talks about it with anyone who is not a therapist, and she probably won't do it again.

"I was really afraid that I couldn't do it, Liv. I'm not sure now. I always thought that everything would just come back together at some point, make sense, and I'd be myself again, and call you and everything would be fine. But that's not life, is it?"

Olivia puts her mug back on the table, looking openly into Alex's blue eyes. One guard is down, but she has a whole fortress in there, though the detective knows she can't be much better herself.

"I think you're doing fine," she says earnestly.

Alex sighs. "I'm trying. But sometimes it feels like the whole DA's office is just waiting for me to trip."

Olivia frowns. It's well known that Alex is a favorite, getting away with more legal stunts than the average Joe prosecutor, and with connections that go all the way back to her grandfather. It doesn't make sense that her coworkers would be out for her blood. Well, unless they are afraid of her. Before she can ask specifics, Alex speaks up again. "How about you?"

Olivia sways her mug lightly, watching the dark liquid swirl. "What about me?"

"I don't know, tell me something."

"Like what?" She looks back at Alex with a smirk, hoping that messing with her a bit will prevent her from asking anything that she can't answer right now. Finally the only person she wanted to talk to all this time is sitting right in front of her and she can't possibly go in that direction. Maybe it was just a very convenient excuse all along, not wanting to talk to anyone but Alex, thinking that Alex wouldn't ever be back in her life.

It works. Alex shrugs, seemingly a bit flustered. "How are you, what have you been up to, how's Elliot, are you seeing someone?"

"My pick? Elliot's fine. He's had some family trouble, but I think in the end it's only brought them closer together." _You know how it is_ , she almost says, censoring herself in the last moment. She met Judith Cabot only twice - at Alex's funeral and later in Alex's old apartment - before sitting in the back row of the woman's own memorial service.

"Olivia." Alex's tone is somewhat reproachful, her gaze determined. "Don't make me kick you."

"I'm fine," Olivia says after a short pause, but she can't lie, not to that face. "Well, not really, but I'm getting there. Nothing to worry about. And we're not gonna talk about my sex life."

Alex grins. "All right."

* * *

The streetlights are on when she walks home, a light swing in her step. If there is one thing she is good at, besides occasionally wrapping a courtroom around her little finger, it's turning fruitless romance into friendship. Alan is proof of that. They've had their differences but now seeing him feels like law school before he convinced her to go out with him and ruin a perfectly good relationship.

Of course it's different with Olivia, everything is different with her, and Alex is quite certain that she'll never not miss being with her, but it's such a slippery slope to in indulge in those thoughts. Whatever they had is gone, whoever they were then, they have changed. She has to live with that, and after today, maybe she can manage.

Still, when she lies in bed that night, her eyes falling shut over the rest of the paperwork in her lap, her mind takes her to a spot in the woodlands of Wisconsin, where a small gold pendant is buried.


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N:_**

 _I'm so, so sorry for updating so late (I'll try to be better). Thank you very much for the reviews though, I really appreciate it._

 _A short note about this chapter: I've always thought it fun to play around with the fact that Alex and Elliot had much more screen time together in the later seasons (at least it seems that way to me). And I love the dynamics in the trio anyway, so there you go. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **APRIL PART I**

"Have a good day, babe." Kathy pecks him on the cheek, handing him a small paper bag he knows too well contains the post-Easter health treatment. Unlike his kids he doesn't even get a glimpse of the leftovers, no second chance to dig in these days. A small sign of her love that he could live without, but well there is always someone in the office ready to get take-out.

"You too," he says, blocking her way when she wants to prep the table for the kids. "Hey, hey, hey, not so fast," he mumbles, kissing her lips, feeling her smile. When they can't have breakfast together, the least he can do is have a moment with his wife.

"Ugh, that's disgusting," Dickie complains as soon as he enters the kitchen. Kathy rolls her eyes, and Elliot points a menacing finger at his son, knowing though that little Eli is the only one that doesn't take him for a clown in this house. "Watch it."

The sun is out when he gets into his car, and it's finally giving off some decent warmth, too. The bad weather was starting to get to his bones, as if he didn't feel old enough already. Compared to other men his age, he's still in great shape, it's his job to be, but compared to a few years ago... To his four older kids he used to be the young dynamic dad that would take them outside to play baseball or soccer or whatever they liked, run around with them until they'd struggle not to fall asleep with their heads on the dinner table. More often than not he wonders what kind of father he can be to his youngest son over a decade later. Not that he would tell that to their therapist. He didn't want to see that man in the first place, but his wife has certain means of getting whatever she wants from him. He can't be without her.

He turns on the radio as he drives through the streets, every face and surface glowing with the fresh light of spring, tuning right into an on-air discussion on vaccination. Maybe he is lucky not to be a young parent any more. When he became a father for the first time the cold war wasn't over and the real danger to the next generation they had just contributed to was still a nuclear showdown. And the internet didn't exist, so the few hippies that ran around opposing vaccination back then didn't have the means to become even more paranoid by losing themselves in semi- if not completely unscientific forums on the web. Back when Maureen was in diapers this case would have been closed long ago.

He changes the channel at the next red light, the new station bringing Bon Jovi to his speakers, and watches as a group of people crosses the street in front of his car. His eyes fall on a tall blonde woman typing on her mobile phone and running a hand through her hair. It's his job to be good with faces and it's quite obviously not someone he's ever seen before, nothing about her seems familiar, but he knows that the hair and the height would have caught his partner's attention just a few months ago, that she would have sat up in her seat a little straighter, maybe stopped whatever conversation they would have had going on just for a few seconds.

Neither of them are especially extroverted people, but they've always had a kind of connection that doesn't require much personal inquisition to understand one another. There are unspoken truths between them, and Olivia's relationship with their ADA falls right into that category. It's actually something that he has often wished she would talk about, so that he wouldn't have had to basically ignore her profound happiness back in the day, or the grief, anger and concern that followed. So that he could have been there, share her happiness and offer a shoulder to lean on instead of some lame and vague advice thrown in here and there. Then again, they are pretty close as is, definitely close enough to make IAB and sometimes even Cragen uncomfortable, so maybe it's for the best to miss out on some bonding opportunities.

There is a loud honk behind him and then another, though the light can't have turned green more than two seconds ago, and he curses into his rearview mirror, his foot pushing on the gas deliberately slowly. This city has less and less respect for beautiful mornings.

* * *

"You got really awesome veins," the kid declares, sinking a needle into one.

"You practiced that one, didn't you," she mumbles, forcing herself to look, unwilling to appear squeamish. She has seen her fair share of dead bodies and blood-splattered crime scenes, but there is something about watching her own blood being sucked out of her body that makes her want to cringe.

"I never do." He hands her a small, slightly squishy ball. "Now, keep squeezing and just call me if you're not feeling well."

She digs her fingers into the blue rubber ball, glancing at the thin, now turned dark red, plastic tube along her arm.

"Smooth," Trevor says next to her. "Maybe if they didn't give all the noble citizens to their blood mining interns, more people would consider coming here. Everyone lacking _awesome veins_ automatically ends up with an arm like a Dutch cheese."

She rolls her eyes. "He pricked you twice, get over it. You're just pissed there aren't any hip-swinging nurses around."

"And you aren't?" He raises his eyebrows. "Then again, they lack the gun and the big watch, right?"

"Why did I even ask you to come with me," she says, can't help the small smirk on her lips. It's a personal quirk to never do this alone. The first time she gave blood was in college, when she slid from her chair in her English lit class afterwards. She didn't dare to do it again for a long time, but after almost bleeding out herself, her conscience keeps nagging her to give something back. And now that she doesn't have the excuse of being someone else or taking heavy medication to help her cope with those other lives, there is no justifiable out any more. And really, it's not so bad as long as there is someone to distract her. Trevor though, he's probably gonna rub it in her face in court someday, charming all moms in the jury. _I'm just your average blood donor, I don't know anything about medicine..._

"You know, since you're such a humanitarian these days, you should sign up for the game. Eric told me they are nowhere near to meet the quota." Trevor's tone is just teasing enough to fasten her squeeze on the ball in her palm. "I mean, it's not all about catching the egg, a huge part is just running around, you're good at that."

She takes the ball into her other hand, throws it at him without comment. It bounces off the backrest of his chair and he chuckles. "Honestly, Alex, think about it. You're getting better already."

"You know what," she gives him a challenging look, "you preserve your client's right to murder other children by not vaccinating her kid, I'm gonna play football."

He seems genuinely surprised, and that alone wins her the moment. "You sure you want to bet on _that_ case, Counselor?"

"Oh, please, that woman might think herself the world's most thoughtful mom, but she's an egomaniac. Jury's gonna see that."

"Right. You better start shopping for a gumshield. Can't trust street cops to limit it to the flags."

She snorts and leans her head back, gazing at the beige ceiling. In her personal opinion, beige is a terrible color to wake up to. _Where is Olivia? You told her I was dead?!_

"Trevor, did you ever joke to this Eric guy about me and Liv?" She turns her head to the side, looking at him as he inspects one of the flyers that were lying on the chairs when they got here. It's stupid that she even still thinks about that man, and whatever he tried to do she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of succeeding, but she can't help wondering how someone she has never met before even got the idea of confronting her with Olivia. Yes, behind the official look of professionalism regarding the people who keep the justice system up and running has always been lurking a giant highschool-level rumor mill, though as soon as she signed up for sex crimes literally all that people cared about was how soon she'd quit. And Liz was a good boss to have in that aspect as well; people love to hate her fondly so much that she took a lot of the spotlight away from Alex herself. Most of all, no man she has ever met automatically assumed that she was anything but straight.

"About what? That she almost stabbed me with my own knife when we had dinner that one time? Come on, I tell that story to everyone. It's funny."

"It's embarrassing. They were working their asses off in triple shifts and we were about to spend a good part of their monthly earnings on one meal." Not that Olivia would have been particularly mad about that gross act of entitlement if it hadn't been wrapped up in one admittedly rather misleading scene - and doesn't he know it.

He chuckles. "Seriously? Are you still beating yourself up over that?"

"No, I just don't appreciate your way of talking about it. When I win, it's out of your beer talk collection." It comes out less casual than intended, though he doesn't seem to notice.

"Fine. But you are not going to win."

The kid comes back five, maybe seven minutes later, unhooking them from the tubes. "Here are your coupons," he hands Trevor one, pulls his hand back a little when Alex wants to grab hers. "I can highly recommend the smoked salmon bagel, or the avocado one, if you're a vegetarian."

"You never know with her," Trevor quips.

"Thanks," she says, slightly annoyed, pulling the small piece of paper out from between the intern's fingers. She gets up slowly, a bit dizzy for a moment.

"Um, maybe you should take a few minutes, you know, recover. Your body has lost a lot of-"

Trevor sighs, glancing at the name tag on the boy's lab coat. "Look at her, Steve. Does she seem like the person who has time to sit around here the whole morning to be charmed by you?"

The kid looks from him to Alex and blushes. It makes her feel shabby. The more she has seen in the job, the more she has come to appreciate doctors. She couldn't do it. Looking at destroyed people, most of them dying or dead, making a detailed list of every gruesome thing that was done to them, while their eyes look back at you, empty either way, heading on to the next patient, all the way chained to hard facts and unable to get justice for anyone based on science alone. Warner might not know it, but she has the utmost respect for her.

Steve clears his throat. "I was just trying to be nice," he says to her. "My aunt works for the Times, she wrote a piece about Colombian druglords in New York a few years ago. Me and my brother helped her leaf through old newspapers in the library for pocket money. I figured someone like you probably doesn't like hospitals very much."

She stares at him, a bit startled. "Let's go," Trevor says and puts a hand on her shoulder. "I'm gonna be late for court." He picks up her bag. "Take care, Steve," he says in his earnest voice that is always quite strange to hear, and gives her a soft push to get going. Steve nods at them, giving her a shy smile.

Her heels echo in the hallway as they walk towards the side exit for visitors of the blood bank. "You all right?" Trevor asks, handing her her bag.

"Yeah," she mumbles. _Don't think about it_ , Hammond told her right from the start. _Don't google around. It's stories, that's all._ "Let's just get out of here."

"You sure? Their sandwiches sounds much healthier than anything sold at court." He smiles softly.

"Fresh air would be great too, though."

"Another aspect of football that you're gonna like."

He is too busy gloating to watch out when they go through the automatic swing door and she chuckles as he stumbles slightly on the step, the change from beige into sunlight instantly lightening up her mood.

* * *

"I got something for you."

She blinks, a glittery pink oval appearing in front of her eyes.

"Don't tell me you spent the whole weekend here."

"Okay, I won't," she says, sitting up on the squeaking bunk bed, careful not to hit her head on the upper frame, and snatches the chocolate egg out of her partner's fingers. "Geez, El, and in my favorite color."

He shakes his head. "You know, a woman like you living in New York City, and this is all it adds up to? They should book you for a campaign to minimize rural flight."

"Shut up. I had Sunday off." She groans as she gets up, her back punishing her for actually falling asleep on that thing. Sleeping was all she did on Easter Sunday, but Elliot doesn't need to know that. It felt good, and being alone was actually a big part of that; you'd think married men would agree.

She nibbles on the chocolate on the way to her now almost clear desk and lets herself fall onto the chair in front of it, rolling back a little. Her eyes fall on the newspaper on her partner's desk. "Ugh, I'm so glad when we are done with the measles."

"Tell me about it," he says, quickly stashing something in his locker. Something that looks much nicer than just a plain old pink Easter egg.

"Hey, you wanna bribe the Captain with Kathy's homemade jam?" When they first started working together, Olivia received one of those delicately wrapped mason jars for her birthday. It was insanely delicious, and she said so, but it still stayed a one time thing for some reason.

Elliot looks at her, busted. "No," he says slowly, sitting down across from her on his desk, "it's actually for Alex."

Olivia frowns. "You wanna bribe _her_? Good luck with that."

Her partner cocks his head to the side, seemingly amused. "She did something for Kathy and me, so I kinda owe her."

It's hard to tell whether there is really something provocative about his expression or whether it's just her inexplicable inability to come to terms with this unexpected development of Alex and Elliot being _pals_ all of a sudden. Back in the day, she had to intervene numerous times between them in the workplace and sometimes even during a shared pitcher, both of them too pigheaded to just grant the other one the final say whenever they couldn't see eye to eye. It got easier over the years, but Olivia had always seen that at least in part as her own achievement. It's never been like this, with some weird personal favors that she doesn't know about.

"I was gonna say, you two seem awfully chummy lately." It tumbles out before she can bite her tongue, and she pulls a folder off of the small stack to her right, opening it in front of her, trying to concentrate.

"I'm a married man, Liv." Oh well, he's enjoying this. "There is no need to be jealous. You can even borrow my comb before she comes, glam up a bit."

She glares at him, and for some reason it makes her angry that his eyes aren't mocking, but strangely soft instead.

"You know, if you weren't so grumpy all the time," he starts again, but is interrupted by Munch and Fin coming in with a box of donuts. "Finally, my morning is saved."

"Do you ever think that Kathy might have a point when she puts you on veggies after days of feasting?" Olivia quips, turning around in her chair to fully drop any pretense that she's going to start the day in a healthy way. It's not like anyone would dare joke about her eating habits at the moment; she is in much better shape than all of them. As a woman in the force she is used to keeping an eye on her physical ability, she wouldn't want anyone to think for a second that she can't keep up.

"Give the man a break, Liv. Getting older is a delicate matter for us, too, you know?" Munch points at her with a donut in his hand. "The mainstream media don't bully us into buying anti-aging products right after puberty, so when the years finally catch up, it's a traumatic experience for the most confident of men."

"Thanks Munch," Elliot mumbles with a frown.

"Nah, you better listen to him, he knows what he's talking about, he's already been old when I first met him." Fin shuffles over to his desk and takes a sip out of a mug that must have been standing there since last Saturday. "Ugh," he grimaces afterwards, "that wakes you up in a whole different way."

When Alex joins them half an hour later for a brief on a rather unoriginal case, Olivia steps up to do the talking as soon as the Captain gives a nod. Too late it occurs to her that while Elliot was being a brat, she probably should have taken his advice about freshening up seriously. Alex's blues tend to have an empowering effect on her, especially on good days, however, when there is something to be self-conscious about they increase that discomforting feeling exponentially as well. She used to be able to look through that embarrassingly pubescent paranoia of hers, but like so many other little things, it's not as easy as it once was. It's her own disarray that keeps her from commenting on the blonde being paler than usual right away - maybe it's just her period - and the guys don't seem to notice.

"So we are be pretty sure that this guy wasn't even smart enough to throw out his shoes, and I bet you he's probably stashed her underwear somewhere in his bed-" she sees Alex take a deep breath and literally slipping away, a manila folder preceding her down Olivia's desk.

"Shit," Olivia hears herself say, and she jumps forward, all eyes wandering from her to Alex, as she somehow manages to almost get behind her, catching her arms just in time to prevent her from hitting the ground. She groans slightly. Alex has always been heavier than she looks. _Well, I run almost every day, Olivia. It's offending to assume that I don't have any muscles._ Oh, sweet memories.

* * *

"I'm fine," she mumbles as soon as her ears stop ringing, eyes closed.

"Are you sure?" Olivia's voice is soft above her. As her body regains some sentience, Alex realizes that her head is cushioned by warm thighs, can feel the detective's hands at her sides, a thumb brushing lightly, and only once, over her temple. Someone else is holding her legs up at her knees, and even though her mind is still a bit foggy, she is suddenly very aware that the only wise choice today was choosing pants over a skirt.

"You know, Kathy dropped in the kitchen once, and that's how we found out the twins were on their way."

Alex opens her eyes just enough glare at Elliot standing slightly bowed with her legs in his hands. "I'm not pregnant and you can let go now." He grins, gently putting her feet on the ground, and she props herself up on her elbows, half hoping that Olivia will pull her down again and tell her to give it another minute, but instead the detective gets up from behind her and turns around to give her a hand, pulling her up.

"I gave blood this morning," she says to end the confused silence in the squad room, and Munch resumes eating his donut with an enlightened nod.

"Well, you look it." Cragen rolls an office chair behind her. "Sit down, drink something." He unscrews a small plastic bottle of water and hands it to her. "You're not leaving until this is empty."

She raises an eyebrow and represses a smirk, catching the amused looks being exchanged between Elliot and Olivia, and obligingly takes a few gulps.

"Have you eaten?" Olivia asks and she nods, cocking her head to the side. "I'm fine, really." She takes another sip of water. "So what were you saying? About the suspect?"

"We need a warrant to search his apartment." Elliot sighs. "That pervert is probably jerking off to the victims underwear right now."

"All right, should be easy enough. I'll call you when it's ready." She gets up and receives a warning look from Cragen, pointing at her water bottle. She takes a deep breath, and downs the rest of it rather quickly.

"Olivia is gonna take you," Cragen decides and turns to the detective. "Don't think I don't know what's going on here, Liv. You keep up this bunk and donut routine, you're gonna be the next to drop." When she takes a breath to interrupt, Cragen holds up a hand to stop her. "Get a shower and some decent breakfast, I expect you back with that warrant in two hours." He takes a step back looking from Olivia to Alex and to his other detectives. "Listen, and don't make me say it more than once a year. I'm counting you to take care of yourselves and to come to me when the job is too much. No one is helped if you play poker with your health. Is that understood?"

Alex bites her lip, looking at her feet and nodding shortly; even though he is not really her boss, but she knows this speech is aimed as much at her as at everyone else, and the fact that she caused it doesn't fail to make her feel guilty.

When Cragen has closed his office door behind him, Alex mumbles, "Sorry about that."

Munch makes a disregarding gesture. "Oh, don't worry about it, not every year can be on me, and I know he was pretty close to making it about Elliot's blood pressure anyway."

When Elliot glances at him quizzically, he adds, "Man, the older you get having a temper can cause real damage."

Olivia shakes her head at them and grabs her coat from the squad room's makeshift wardrobe. "You good to go?"

* * *

They are silent on their way downstairs, and she throws a few quick glance toward the blonde just to check that she stays on her feet. She gets caught pretty quickly though.

"Liv, come on. I was just stupid and got away too quickly this morning that's all. You don't even have to come with me now, I'm a big girl."

"I know. Sorry." After a moment she adds, "Next time tell me when you're going, I'm gonna come with you. It's been about - well, too long." She wanted to give blood the night of the shooting, she would have given anything really, got mad when they told her she wasn't in the right condition. Elliot finally got her to calm down, offered his arm instead. She presses her lips together, suddenly remembering the mason jar in her partner's locker. Kathy won't be surprised that he forgot that.

"All right, I'm looking for someone new anyway." Alex smiles and then sighs. "That sounded unfortunate."

Olivia chuckles softly, looking at the dusty corridor.

On the ground floor of the building they pass Goretti, a cop well known for his alcoholic escapades, while he is in the middle of smooching - in the truest sense of the word - the new Mrs Goretti, his former partner. Elliot told her about the wedding, having shared a beer or two here and there with the guy he was blessed enough to be invited, but she only listened with half an ear. She doesn't know what's more icky to her, marrying a partner or marrying Goretti.

Something must have registered on her face, because Alex grins at her when they are outside, squinting against the sun. "You're in a romantic mood today, aren't you?"

"Alex, you don't know this guy."

"Goretti? Of course I do. He puked on ADA Simmons once and tried to dry her chest afterwards. A trial was postponed."

Olivia shakes her head. "Nice."

"But now he seems to be happily married and off the streets. What's so bad about that?"

She sighs. "I don't know, it's just weird to mix job and personal life at this level." Alex snorts, and she quickly adds, "That was different, we never shared an office."

"I would have broken up with you if you had kissed me in the hallway like that," Alex says in a low voice and chuckles.

"Well, I think if I kissed like that we would have never been an item."

That makes Alex laugh, and suddenly Olivia feels flustered by her own comment.

"Look," the blonde says finally, glancing at the street, "I don't want you to waste your time stuck in traffic because of me. I'm fine, just meet me at my office later."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely." The first mild breeze of the year twirls up a few gold strands from behind her shoulder, and she shields her eyes with a hand against the sun, gorgeous mermaid of the city.

"Okay then, see you later," Olivia says, somewhat relieved as she turns away.

When she arrives at Alex's office later and all freshened up, she only meets the new assistant.


End file.
